July 26, 1960

I didn’t know how, but even after all this hardship, I still managed to have hope. I will be free one day! I knew it.

The cocoa farm buzzed with excitement. I heard that there was a referendum to free Ivory Coast from France’s colonization. Chiku and I desperately hoped Papa Houphouet would set us free. I had been enslaved for so long. My heart ached for a real home and a family. I wanted a mom and a dad and Chiku to be my sister.

I watched for an opportunity to escape. Many have tried, but none made it past the high fences and barbed wire that separated us from freedom. Any cursed souls caught trying to escape were beaten savagely. Just last night, a child was caught trying to escape. He was held to the ground by two adults. A slave master struck him with a long, slender rod of cane. I can still vividly hear the deafening screams, “Please stop! Someone save me. Help, please!” The rest of us were forced to watch the torture as a way to instill a horrifying terror and fear in us. Any squirmish child, looking away even for a moment, too would be beaten before the rest of us.

By the end of the beating, the child would be unconscious on the ground, lying in a pool of blood, body covered in deep cuts. They would then whisk the child away. Very few ever survived the treacherous beatings.

I thought if the French would leave, we would be free—free from slavery; free from the cruel people who owned our lives.

The French took away our homes, our culture, and our lives. The Ivorians were taxed and forced to work for the French without pay. We were treated like dogs. France did not allow us to keep our local customs. To them, we were wild savages who needed to be tamed. They interfered in everything, stripping us of pride in our local heritage. The official language became French, which was considered “sophisticated and civilized.” French replaced our indigenous languages, including Baoulé, Dioula, Dan, Anyin, and Cebaara Senufo. In total, some 78 languages spoken in Ivory Coast were forbidden. Why? Because French considered us barbaric.

 

May 17, 1961

When will I be freed?

Every day they came and woke us up at five o’clock in the morning. If you didn’t get up immediately, the beating followed. “Get up you little maggots! I don’t have all day, you lazy good for nothings!” Marcel, the slave master shrieked. I shook myself awake and scrambled to the door. Chiku was yawning tiredly. Marcel yelled and lashed her arm with a whip. Chiku struggled to keep the tears from spilling out. Her arm was red and welts were swelling up. Marcel raised his whip to strike again, but I grabbed Chiku’s hand and yanked her out of the way. Outside, I asked, “Are you ok?” dabbing her bloody arm with my shirt.

Breakfast—a small crust of bread per child—is handed out.

After breakfast, I grabbed my usual machete and headed into the forest with a sack. Stopping at a blooming cocoa plant, I took out my machete and started cutting at the thick husk. Around me, I could see others hacking away to obtain the precious pods. Suddenly, my hand slipped. My sweat-covered palm shifted the machete. The sharp blade left the bean pod and pierced deeply into my skin. It cleanly sliced a long gash across my thigh. I shrieked in pain. Blood gushed out like a fountain. I was sitting in a pool of blood. Anyone else would have fainted, but I tried to stay calm. I ripped off part of my ragged shirt and wrapped it tightly around my thigh. The shirt quickly stained bright red with blood. “Back to work!” a slave master shouted at me. Trying not to cry out from the pain, I lifted the machete and continued cutting the bean pod. The blood soaked through my makeshift tourniquet and dripped onto the dry soil. After a few more movements of the machete, I felt lightheaded and then collapsed to the ground. Suddenly, the sunlight disappeared and I don’t remember what happened after that.

When I woke up, I was laying in my bed. Was it day or night? I lost all sense of time. Then finally, Chiku came into the room with a fresh dressing for my wound and a cup of water. I gulped down the water while Chiku busily took the blood-stained shirt off my thigh and replaced it with the new dressing. I bit down on the cup to keep from crying out. Chiku burst into tears. “Abiyomi, the master says that if you don’t get up and go back to the field, he will kill you himself.” At this, I struggled to get myself up. “No, Abiyomi, you’re not well. Wait till tomorrow.” Weakly, I laid back down and fell asleep.

When I woke up, I was feverish with fire. I sat up with a start. The pain in my leg was searing. Grimacing, I unwrapped the gauze around my thigh and inspected the wound. It was yellowish-green with puss bubbling out. The cut was bright red and swollen. The long gash was oozing a sickly green mucus. Petrified, I fell back onto the straw mat. My vision was blurry. The room swirled and turned. My whole body was burning. Sweat poured down my face and into my mouth. I could taste the salt. I needed water, desperately. I tried to yell for help but my voice was wispy and cracked. Chiku was not here. How long had I slept? My thoughts were clouded, my body was a furnace. I was ablaze with fever.

I began to shake with seizures. Tremors ran throughout my body. I couldn’t control it. I shook like an earthquake. Closing my eyes, I gripped the straws on the floor. The ground was cold, and I pressed my burning cheek to it. I shook violently, uncontrollably. My lips and fingers felt numb. I looked at my hand. It was blue. I was scared for my life. Shutting my eyes, I tried to shut out the pain.

Suddenly, I heard a voice. “Abiyomi!” The sound swirled around my head. “Mom, is that you? Mom?” My head hurt and my world was spinning. I felt dizzy and my heart was palpitating at a maddening pace. The voice of my dead mother called me softly. Now, I could see her. There she stood in front of me in her youth. I recognized her face from an old photo. It was my mother. “Mom! It’s really you!” I wanted to hug her so badly but I couldn’t get up. I reached out my hand to touch her face, but it went right through her. Tears ran down my cheeks. I just wanted my mother.

I needed air. Gasping for breath, I gulped down air frantically. I felt someone lift me into the air. My chest rose and fell rapidly. I heaved, wheezed and coughed. Every cough made my head throb.

Suddenly, I felt no more pain. I was at peace. A bright light shone into my eyes, and I saw my mother again. She lifted me in her outstretched arms and brought me into the light. “Come my beautiful Abiyomi, you are free at last!”

“I’m free!” Then I breathed my last breath.

 

The End

-Mackenzie

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